


The Reality of a Dream

by salatuh



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Miranda - Freeform, Post-Canon, mentions of Madi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salatuh/pseuds/salatuh
Summary: So! This was a tumblr prompt for Bottom!Flint and grew into a super meta analysis with lots of emotions. *shrugs*Thank you to Trinity_Blaze and Brasspetal for the readthrough on the first chapter! <3Synopsis: James, John and Thomas come together years later and find themselves residing in Nassau's interior. James is disillusioned in the face of a domestic life he thought he'd dreamed of.





	The Reality of a Dream

James agitatedly sighs while he rips snap peas from their stock in the garden. His ears burn hot while listening to his neighbor, the young pastor Tybalt, practice his next speech outside in the adjacent field.

“We are created in God’s image and likeness, yet our perversions and selfishness are what keep us away from His true enlightenment…”

He startles at Thomas’ soft hum beside him. He hadn’t heard him and John return from their routine secretive morning venture, and he does his best not to let the wave of nervous agitation from being left in the dark wash over him. James instead turns for a closer inspection of him— the grey in his beard, the soft etching of crow’s feet at the corners of his squinting eyes as he considers Tybalt, are both signs that the Thomas of today is indeed a reality and not a terrible trick conjured up by his mind.

“If we are created in God’s image and likeness,“ he begins. “Would it not be proper to say He’s given us our desires and wants?” Thomas shrugs, eyes blinking away at the sun and offering him a rueful smile. “Perhaps we should go find some enlightenment this afternoon…”

James’ stomach churns at his offer. He looks down to his basket nearly full of vegetables he’s pulled and thinks it’s barely enough to make a proper stew for the three of them— not with how John eats these days, like a man starved.

He gets up from his crouched position in the dirt with a small grunt of discomfort, knees popping as he stands to find John moving from around the back of their modest farmhouse. His chestnut locks are streaked with silver to match the legend of his abandoned name. They’re shorter these days; the curls gently lap around his clean shaven chin in an almost boyish manner. He carries a small stack of logs under one arm, his crutch under the other, and a quick glance in James’ direction as he steps through the doorway and out of sight.

Thomas’ roughened palm runs over his sunburned shoulder, snapping James back into the pull of those kind, alluring eyes. James had dreamt of those eyes during his decade apart from beholding them, blue and expansive like the sky above. And then… The thief, turned survivor, turned quartermaster and lover— his eyes, the hue of the deep blue seas they traversed together began to wash into his dreams. He’d feared he’d never see the sky again, that he wouldn’t have the strength to hold onto their memory with the same vivid focus as before.

James blinks and bites back the hiss from the contact on his raw skin, instead willing himself to stay stable while Thomas braces himself and stands beside him.

“You forgot to rub Mary’s aloe into your skin before coming outside, didn’t you?” Thomas muses when he sees the white imprint left behind from his fingers on James’ hot tender skin.

James’ face twitches; with everything that’s changed in the past years, Thomas is settled that James’ telltale sign of annoyance has not.

“It’s just a sunburn,” James flatly states and heads toward the kitchen with his basket of vegetables.

Thomas follows, the tomatoes James left behind in his hand.

“Yes,” he agrees and stops him with an arm to his chest under the shade of the doorway. “But I’d hate to see you in discomfort if it can be avoidable.”

James grimaces but gently grips his outstretched hand. “I’ve had worse,” he gruffly replies, eyes a sharp green that pricks Thomas’ chest until they quickly shift to the kitchen where John is balancing on his one foot while kindling the firewood under a large black pot.

Thomas swallows and hangs his head, then lets James press by his arm while still holding the tomatoes in the other.

“Haven’t we all?”

James doesn’t reply, instead he continues to the table where Silver’s crutch leans away from the fire and takes a dagger out from its sheath in his belt, shelling the snap peas with a silently desperate focus.

John quietly coughs while he slowly spins and takes hold of his crutch. James resolutely keeps his eyes on his task, avoiding the questioning look he knows is on his former quartermaster’s face. Knowing he is agitated and calculating all of the bloody reasons why he is today of all days this way.

Thomas comes to stand across from him with a bowl of dry beans, waiting to be seasoned with the fresh pepper he begins to grind with the heel of his palm. James flinches at the sound they make, at the sharp smell that invades his nostrils from the crushed pellets when Thomas sprinkles their remnants into the bowl. Their scent is too familiar to gunpowder.

John hovers beside him, leaning on the wood of the table instead of the crutch under his arm. The lack of space between them has the hair on James’ arms standing on edge, a sweat flushing across his skin, the salt in it stinging his shoulders.

“What?” James’s face twitches while he sniffs and husks out. He won’t look away from the carrot he begins chopping in earnest. When neither one answers, he finally looks up from his mangled and eviscerated vegetables with the cautious whisper of a glare in his eyes.

Thomas dusts the last of the pepper from his palms and moves to carefully hold a small round tomato to the table. He glances up under his brows to James then takes in Silver’s steady form beside him. John’s eyes are stern and calculating while they stare on at James — accusatory, in a sense, but behind the sharpness of them, Thomas catches the wisps of concern and questioning. Questioning why James is in such a foul mood on the eve of such a holy day.

_“What?”_

John isn’t deterred by his harsh attacking tone, knowing it to be just another mask James dons to hide what he truly feels. And what he truly feels is something John wants to give James the courtesy of not knowing for himself. Yet, he sees the startings of a pattern he thought he’d snuffed out back on an island where skeletons lay awake and secrets were once buried... He wonders if the privilege of not knowing is tipping up too high in the air, outweighed by the cost of another fit of violent rage strong enough to boil into yet another unwinnable war…

“There’s not enough water for the stew.” John pushes off the table with a sigh and stands tall with his crutch under his arm. “I’m going to draw more from the well.”

James shoots a breath that originates in his shoulders and stares back down at his hands on the cutting board.

“There’s no need, actually.”

John and James look over the side of the table while Thomas leans down with a grunt and lifts a small bucket with sloshing water around to the cast iron pot near the hearthfire. James has half a mind to move and help him lift the water, but hesitates when John turns and holds the bottom steady with a flat palm as Thomas pours.

“Don’t put too much in,” James starts and grimaces when they both ignore him and keep tilting the bucket until the deep pot is nearly halfway full. James peers into its bleak waters and shakes his head mirthlessly; he wonders why on earth they would think there are enough vegetables from their garden to keep this stew from being too thin. “ _I_ _said_ not to put too much in,” he snips while shoving himself between them and grabbing the bucket. He begins to tilt the heavy pot toward him with the small bucket between his thighs. Thomas holds the brim steady.

“What are you doing?” Thomas quietly inquires.

James huffs with a furrowed brow while his skin begins to flush in frustration. He feels rather like a schoolboy in mass caught staring too long at the deacons instead of the nuns.

“I’m trying to save the stew,” he says while looking away.

Time moves between them in years rather than minutes. They stand at an impasse; the pot feels more like an ocean of water separating them than a vessel for the few liters it holds. James contemplates starting a silent protest and goes to tilt the pot against the weight of Thomas’ palm when a waterfall of black-eyed peas splashes into the stewpot instead.  

“You shit,” he seethes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

James’ raised voice gives John pause. He runs his tongue on the inside of his lower lip then quirks an eyebrow. He tilts his reflective metal bowl to James, empty and clear.

“I’m making stew, same as you, same as Thomas,” he calmly replies.

“There’s too much water,” James grits out. He glares at John and angrily releases the pot brim then goes back to chopping the few onions he uprooted from the soil. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. You never listened to me, what’s to change that now?” He bitterly wipes back a tear that escapes his eye with the pad of his thumb then continues dicing with a newfound fervor.

“I seem to recall an ill-tempered pirate captain giving me precise instructions on how to cook without giving the crew further food poisoning.”

James tenses at the mention of their past and chances a flustered glance in Thomas’ direction.

“Fine, just- leave it alone,” he nervously murmurs under his breath. His hands begin trembling when Thomas comes to stand at his post with the tomato, going in for another slicing. The room grows pregnant with a silence save for the sounds of knives dully thumping on cutting boards. James flinches into himself at the loud popping of logs under the pot.

“I’d like to think I’ve earned a bit of trust from you since then.”

John’s words stab and twist in James’ chest, throwing caution to the sea.

“I said leave it alone!” He whips his head back and snaps.

John observes the tears brimming in his eyes, the quivering chin covered in rugged stubble, and the blotchy redness spreading to James’ pulsing temples.

Thomas doesn’t meet his gaze this time, instead he chooses to let John brave this battle on his own.

“You really are unbelievable.” John meets his blazing green eyes and shakes his head with a mirthless chuckle.

Thomas’ grey head of hair stays bent down while he continues chopping tomato after tomato, feigning stoicism in an unsettlingly successful attempt to disappear into the background in response to their shared partner’s sudden outburst.

James’ brows crinkle into distortion while his eyes turn to slits. He twirls the blade handle in his grasp and faces John head on, leaving Thomas behind him.

“What are you talking about?”

John’s free palm motions around them. “We’re all better off than we were at the start of this, yet here you are, angry because it didn’t go your way.”

“What part of ‘leave it alone’ do you not understand, John?” He warns with a tone that cuts like a dagger. He takes a step toward him and rolls his stiff jaw. “Hm?”

James crowds John until his lower back hits the side of the heating stewpot. But John is not deterred. He’s peeked behind this mask before, when Flint chose to unveil himself and give James a breath of air. Fresh air in a softly lit place on an island of found souls, where he once trusted his vulnerability would be held with careful consideration and understanding. He holds onto this truth like a rope tied haphazardly between their chests then grips his crutch handle.

“Why can’t you see the good in all this?” He asks, and the rage he incites in James sends a flicker of light into that pure form hiding behind the dark forest green of his eyes. John bites his lip and presses forward until their noses nearly brush. “Why can’t you see that I’m on your side—”

“You’ve always been in this for yourself, your side of things—”

“My side _is_ your side!” Silver roars back.

He chokes at the press of sharp steel against his throat. He catches Thomas’ eyes over James’ shoulder and watches his adam’s apple bob, hands stalled and dropping the knife in his own grasp. John hopes his pleading look is enough.

“James,” Thomas’ voice calmly calls like a ghost from the past.

James pinches his lids shut and shudders involuntarily at the position he’s put himself in front of Thomas, ashamed of what he’s become.

The blade falters against John’s neck while he takes in heaps of air. He is shocked into stillness when John grips his wrist and presses the sharp edge back against the delicate skin of his neck. Strings of auburn hair fall into his face while he violently shakes in place, unable to move and terrified of the unknown proposition John offers him.

John breathes deeply before he locks eyes with James, grounding him as best he can in this trious moment. He’s been here before, at the mercy of his hands... except this time he doesn’t have anything else to offer but this truth and the baring of his neck.

“James, I love you.”

James sputters while his body betrays him, tears spilling down his face without his permission. “Stop,” his voice trembles with the threat of a choking sob on the horizon.

His eyes shift of their own volition, taking in Thomas’ long and sturdy form coming to stand beside them with a hand on John’s shoulder, a participating witness to the bitter fruits of his darkness. His throat unclamps on a broken cry when Thomas’ palm, rough and calloused from years of labor, caresses the side of his neck with permeable tenderness.

“James,” he calls again. He is present and real, with eyes full of concern and understanding— a dumbfounding understanding in which James cannot fathom where its roots originate. “My love,” he murmurs. James snaps his eyes shut, he cannot be a witness to these admissions he isn’t worthy of anymore. “The darkness we’ve traversed nearly took us. But we have an opportunity here. There is possibility here. There is freedom here. There is love—”  

“There is no love!” James wetly shouts and wrenches out of John’s grip on his wrist, the blade clanking on the floor. He points to his chest with an accusatory jab of his finger.

“There is no love here!”

Thomas’ heart clenches as James backs away from him and John with a hunched over body. He stops when his back stumbles into the dull corner of their kitchen table.

“She’s not here,” James whispers tearfully.

The mention of her evokes tears in Thomas’ eyes, filling them like an ocean.

“Whatever this is. Whatever it is we’ve been charading at here,” James shakily waves out in front of them, “It won’t bring her back. I can’t bring her _bah—_ ” He sucks in a sharp breath that stings his raw lungs. “I couldn’t do enough to bring her back.”

He slides to the floor, eyes blearily looking up to Thomas as if he were a mirage of the sea while he is dragged down by the weight of his sorrow. Sobs rack his body after admitting the one ghost he’d been too terrified to give voice to.

“You’re wrong.”

Thomas wipes a tear and looks at John with an questioning gaze, jaw clicking shut. His dark furrowed brow, the firm resolution in his demeanor where he presses a sunkissed palm over his own gives him something to hold onto.

“There is something here. She had to have seen that there is something here,” John says with a quiet fervor. He squeezes Thomas’ hand once then leans down with the support of his crutch leg.

James flinches when the pads of John’s fingers run through his sweat soaked hair and rub at his temples.

“There is love _here_ ,” John murmurs into his ear. He dares a glance up in the direction of his deep resounding voice, unable to deny what John always made true with the gift of his tongue. “And the only one who won’t see it is you.”

Thomas bends on one knee and gently rubs his palm over James’ outstretched leg. “If Miranda, were here…” He holds on tighter when James begins shaking his head and tries to pull away in earnest. “ _If she were here,_ ” he presses, successfully anchoring James alongside John. “She would agree.”

James breathes heavily through his nostrils, their words wash through his pores and into his bones, collecting years of grime encrusted guilt until it floods out through a new onslaught of tears. He doesn’t push down the memory of Miranda that shines vivid and clear like a pool of still water in his mind’s eye…

Her deep brown eyes, full of kindness and love held him captive as she glided closer. He can almost smell her perfume, a delicate balance of rose and lavender.

“Are you happy, Lieutenant?” She stood before him and asked.

Here she is again, a shadowed memory that asked the same question with her soft confident voice, daring him to deny himself. It had been about happiness, once upon a time. Had so much changed since then? So much that he’d lost his way in the journey to fulfilling her dream— _their_ dream?

A tear trickles down his cheek and runs into the soft press of a warm palm. He finds himself leaning into the touch with a shaky sigh, then peels his eyes open to the shadowed image of four worn hands in his lap. He peers over to the kitchen knife lying innocently on the floor and gulps.

“I’m sorry,” James rasps.

Two hands move in tandem to weave with his own in silent encouragement. He turns and presses his chapped lips to the inside of John’s palm, blinking away his shedding tears.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry,” James continues and holds tight to their hands. He shakily meets John’s bright blue gaze, tears spilling over without pause. He can see clearly now how genuine John is with him, still here by his side after all they’d been through.

“I know you are,” John says. He cradles James in his palm, gently kneading where skull meets neck and allowing him to rest his forehead against his collarbone.

John watches Thomas press a kiss to the back of James’ hand and unfold himself up off the floor. They give each other a sad yet fond smile, then Thomas nods and moves out of the kitchen with soft footfall.

“I took her away from you,” James shudders through his tears and rolls his forehead into John’s bare shoulder.

John swallows the admission and unlaces his fingers from James’ hand. It’s been years since he’s seen her, dark skin and shining eyes full of tears, beautiful even in her anger. His mind fills with the images of burned pages and loaded pistols, of deadly men and jungled terrain, of ink and a fresh page where he drew a new map to absolution from an unfinished memory.

“One day she’ll forgive me,” John murmurs into his skin with the hope of another dream he can will into reality. He kisses the top of James’ head and rubs his palm up and down his arm in a soothing manner.

Thomas returns with a gentle pet to John’s head. He settles on the floor beside James and uncorks the jar of salve in his hand. “I found Mary’s aloe,” he says while dipping two fingers into the green-tinted jelly.

He watches James lift his head and side eye him with a sniffle, then grins in response. With slow gestures, Thomas shifts closer to rub the salve into James’ sunburned shoulder. He sighs in relief alongside James, his hot skin cooling under his ministrations.

“I’m sorry,” James mumbles into the space among them. He half heartedly lilts his lips to somewhere between a smile and a frown. “I’ve been so scared of letting go.”

Thomas continues rubbing until James sags deeper into John’s hold. He cups the side of his neck, fingers smoothly tracing the spaces between John’s and slots their hands together. He captures John’s eyes and the silent question in them, the whisper of a smile. With a small grin, Thomas moves and rubs his nose along James’ skin.

James sucks in a breath and his eyelids flutter with the feel of Thomas’ warm wet lips sliding along his jaw. John’s lips capture his own and he tastes forgiveness, bittersweet and true on his tongue. He blinks away new tears and surrenders to their mutual hold on him.

“I love you,” he breathes into John’s mouth. His hand twists into the worn material of Thomas’ chemise and pulls back just the slightest. “I love you,” he cries softly before Thomas envelops him, swallowing his pain and reforming it with gentle kisses. “I love you.”

They sit there beneath the wooden table, a triad of men with long journeys and stories, with names formerly feared and respected. Three men looking for peace in the world.

John is the first to shift, his nose picking up the scent of beans pungent in the air. He grunts as he rises on his one leg, then shifts his crutch beneath his arm and walks toward the stewpot, picking up the fallen knife on his way.

“It seems the beans have had enough time to soften with the fire,” he muses. He looks behind him with a raised eyebrow. “What say you, Captain?”

James quirks his lips in their place on Thomas’ temple. He smirks then kneels up off the floor with a groan, then takes in the lithe manner Thomas moves as he stands tall beside him. He surveys the table and searches for the lengthy wooden spoon used for testing his creations.

He takes his footlong oar in hand and walks over to John. He stabs it into the stewpot and stirs with a calming focus before scooping some beans and testing one’s give with a thumb and forefinger. James nibbles on the bean with an appraising hum.

“Is it ready for the rest?” Thomas asks, bowl full of chopped vegetables in the crook of his arm.

James smiles and nods. He observes the downpour of green and orange, red and white into the pot with with a loosening in his chest. He offers John the spoon and holds his hands behind his back while he watches their stew.

“We make a good crew,” James shyly chuckles. John fondly laughs and nods, smoothly stirring and enjoying the warmth of the rising heat on his arm.

Thomas hums in acknowledgement while he takes the bowl and places it on the table behind them. “Strange pairs, love,” he speaks with a sound resolution and rubs circles into the smalls of John’s and James’ backs with his palms.

“They can achieve the most unexpected things.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments settle my addled mind. <3 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr @Silversexual so we can obsess over this show together. :)


End file.
